


Feel

by Rinkafic



Series: A Little FarGate [2]
Category: Farscape, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 19:50:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinkafic/pseuds/Rinkafic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is picking up a while after <i><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/374996"><span>Right Wormhole, Wrong Stop</span></a></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel

Sheppard eyed the small bowl of mushy magenta colored pudding in front of him on the table. Pudding was the only word he could think of to describe the concoction. Chiana had called it by a name the microbes didn’t translate. He thought the word was _uriza_ but he didn’t want to annoy her by asking her to repeat it a third time. John was not too concerned with the taste - after all, he was USAF and SGC - he could stomach a lot of things. The mischievous look Chiana had given him as she pushed the bowl in front of him, however, gave him pause. Since he’d gone through the Gate and the wormhole had dumped him here on Moya, Chiana had made him the brunt of several pranks. 

“Chi!” Crichton exclaimed as he came into the chamber. He snatched the bowl away from John and glared at the Nebari. “What are you trying to do?”

“Just trying to add a little flavor to your lives.”

“We don’t need _this_ kind of spice,” Crichton snapped, waving the bowl.

Looking from one to the other as they faced off, Sheppard finally asked, “What’s the big deal? What is this stuff?” He grabbed the bowl from Crichton’s hand and sniffed at it. It was pungent, though not unpleasant. He had suffered worse in the Atlantis mess hall. 

“A drug.”

“It is not a drug!” Chiana protested, reaching for the bowl as she made a face at Crichton. John let her take it. “You are so boring, Crichton! I bet you turn out all the lights and do everything under the blankets.”

“She’s calling you a prude John. Again,” Sheppard smirked and crossed his arms, watching Crichton sputter. He was actually blushing!

“I am not!” Crichton turned on him, annoyance on his face. 

Chiana helpfully extended the bowl to Sheppard. Intercepting the hand off, Crichton snatched it and scooped up most of the mush on his fingertips and eyed it skeptically and then gave it a small sniff. Making the decision for him, Sheppard reached over, grasped his wrist firmly and pulled Crichton’s hand to his mouth. He touched the tip of his tongue to the oddly colored substance, thinking idly that food should probably not be florescent pinky-purple. 

It wasn’t terrible. He couldn’t think of anything to compare it to, it was completely alien. Not sweet at all, just a little tangy with a hint of smokiness. He closed his mouth over John’s fingers and sucked the goop off. Licking his lips, he glanced over at Chiana and asked, “Okay, so what does it do?”

“Fine time to ask, flyboy!” Crichton cuffed him upside the head. “It fucks with your senses.”

“It’s only temporary,it will wear off,” Chiana said in a reassuring voice as John looked at her in a panic. “It’s fun.”

He started to feel a little tingly all over. Pins and needles tingly.

“You’ll be forced just to feel. You won’t be able to see or hear or taste or smell. Just _feel,_ ” Chiana said longingly, in a tone that told John she had taken this stuff before. She’d propositioned him in the past, propositioned both he and Crichton since they’d gotten together. In private, Crichton had hinted that Chiana was more than a bit promiscuous and that he could take her come ons with a grain of salt. Rygel didn’t hint. He outright called the Nebari a tralk - a slut. 

Sheppard gave Crichton what he hoped was a sultry look. “I can see the practical applications for this.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. Let’s go play.” He got up and pushed at Crichton’s shoulder. “See ya later, Chiana. Thanks.”

“Don’t thank her until you come down from this shit,” Crichton groused, tossing a dirty look over his shoulder at Chiana, who shrugged and grinned, then waved cheerily.

By the time they got to Crichton’s quarters - he had the bigger bed - Sheppard couldn’t smell anything anymore. In the months since coming here, he had grown accustomed to the constant alien scent of Moya. He also couldn’t smell Crichton when he was pulled into a rough embrace upon entering the chamber. 

“Feel okay?” Crichton asked, running a hand over John’s cheek and ruffling his hair, concern showing in his eyes. 

“Tingly. My nose is gone.”

“It’s still there. Wait, you can feel it though, right?”

“Yeah, I just can’t use it.”

Crichton leaned in and kissed him. “Chiana needs to mind her own business.”

John snickered. “I think she likes interfering, she’s a little gray yenta.” 

“A kinky gray yenta.”

“What?”

“I said...”

“Nevermind, I can’t hear you.” A moment later, John couldn’t see either. He threw his hands out in front of him, feeling around for Crichton and patting his chest with his palms. “Oh, still there?”

Strong hands gripped his shoulders and he was turned around and nudged into motion. His knees connected with the edge of the bed and Crichton’s hand pressed at the small of his back, urging him forward. He knelt on the bed and then went onto his belly when his partner continued to push at him.

Crichton’s palm on his back was warm, even through the the layer of his worn black t-shirt. The _uriza_ had stolen most of his senses, but his sense of touch had been enhanced and intensified. Crichton began undressing him, starting at his boots. John didn’t fight it, he let himself go limp and enjoyed the manhandling. Apparently still a bit annoyed, Crichton wasn’t trying to be gentle, which was cool, John liked it.

As his recently acquired leather pants were stripped off him, John said, “Leave yours on. I want to feel...”

Crichton patted his bare ass cheek to let him know he’d heard the request. Sheppard licked his lips in anticipation, he liked Crichton’s leather-clad ass, liked the feel of leather against his skin. He had never expected to fall in with another guy - he’d thought his last experience had cured him of it. But here he was, in one of the oddest relationships he’d ever had. With another guy named John, to boot.

Crichton crawled up over him, deliberately rubbing leather against skin. John sighed as the smooth, cool leather pressed against him. Without his hearing, he missed the usual distinctive creaks and cracks that Crichton’s leather made when it moved. He couldn’t smell the leather or Crichton and wasn’t sure he liked that aspect of the experience. 

Hands rubbed slowly over his back, over his hips and then over his ass, kneading and pressing in. When Crichton had apparently finished the impromptu massage, he slid off John’s back and pulled at him until he rolled over. Settling against the pillows, Sheppard wasn’t sure where to anticipate the next touch. Without being able to see to follow Crichton’s line of sight, he couldn’t guess. If Crichton was talking, or musing aloud about what to do as he sometimes did, John couldn’t hear him. 

The anticipation built. It was delicious, John was shivering slightly, waiting for his lover’s touch. He sensed movement over him, felt heat from Crichton’s body as he leaned in near John’s throat. Crichton’s hair tickled John’s neck, and then his mouth was on him, sucking and nipping down his throat. John knew he was moaning and gasping, but he couldn’t hear any of his or Crichton’s sex noises. He imagined the sounds Crichton would be making, figuring there were slurps as Crichton sucked on one nipple. Sheppard arched up into the sensation. His nipples had never been so sensitive, and had never been such a turn on for him before. 

“Keep doing that,” he begged. In response, Crichton squeezed a hand around his left pec, brushing his palm against the nipple. John let go with a stream of nonsensical babble.

Lips pressed to his throat, dampness as Crichton’s tongue licked along his neck. John squirmed and focused on the sensations washing over him because that was all he had, his other senses were all deadened. He flailed a hand around until he connected with Crichton’s hair. He grasped tightly, the softness tickling his palm as he steered Crichton towards the sensitive spots.

Making love with the lights out was different than this. There was no light, not even the constant warm glow that emanated from Moya’s bulkheads. It was never truly dark on the living ship, at least not until now. He couldn’t see where Crichton was looking, and hadn’t realized until that moment just how much he watched Crichton for his cues when they were in bed together. He might have given that some more consideration, but was completely distracted from any kind of thought by Crichton’s mouth on his cock.

He screamed, he couldn’t hear it but he felt the ripple of it as it tore out of his throat. “Oh, God, Crichton.” It was intense. A glorious pleasure-pain centered on his over-sensitized member. Crichton lifted off, a long pause, questioning, waiting as he held one hand loosely around John’s dick. 

“Keep going, damn it.”

It was simultaneously the most pleasurable and the most painful blowjob of his life. He couldn’t last, it was simply too much feeling. Warm wetness encased his cock, sliding up and down. Whiskers and hair tickled at him. The slight rub of Crichton’s teeth, usually such a thrill, was a new source of pain. 

He could feel Crichton humming tunelessly, though he couldn’t hear him. “I feel you humming you bastard.” Crichton laughed against him and then slapped his belly. It was a running thing, John teased Crichton constantly for his “sex music.” 

“I’m gonna come,” he warned, far too soon. The tension building within him was a burning ache. He needed to finish, but not this way, he wanted it all this time. “I want you in me when I do.”

Crichton obliged him, pulling his mouth off John’s cock and giving him a last stroke and twist. Then he flipped John over onto his belly and pushed at him until he went up onto his knees. Crichton spread his cheeks and he felt him apply the warm gel they used as lube. He refused to ask when Crichton got it, he really didn’t want to know the source, not in this galaxy. Not wasting any time, Crichton pushed in right away. John gasped and choked, falling forward onto his folded arms and panting for air as feeling overwhelmed him yet again. 

His partner held still and patted his back, waiting. When John could breathe again, he pushed back slightly. Crichton grasped his hips and began moving in and out of him slowly. He reached around and grasped John’s cock, jerking him in time with his thrusts. John had his arms around a pillow and was crying into it, riding wave after wave of pleasure-pain as Crichton took him.  
John didn’t have to beg for harder or faster. Crichton picked up the pace slightly as John felt his balls tighten and he came all over Crichton’s fist. Crichton let go of his cock and grabbed his waist, yanking him back and driving into him harder. Overwhelmed, John buried his face in the soft fabric and screamed out his pleasure. 

Crichton wrapped his arms around John’s middle and pulled him back, moving so that John was sitting astride his lap, impaled on his cock. He tried to move, to ride the way he usually did in this position, but he had no muscle control, no strength left, he was drained. He grasped both hands around Crichton’s forearm at his waist and leaned back against him. He could feel Crichton’s hot breath on the side of his neck. He was bounced slightly as his partner thrust up into him, the pace considerably slower, but the penetration deeper in this new position. The arms around his waist tightened and John felt the heat as Crichton came inside him. 

Rather than pulling out, Crichton fell to his side on the bed, taking John with him so that they were spooned together, still joined. Crichton held him and kissed the back of his neck. Gradually, he loosened his hold around John’s waist and began to rub his hands over John’s damp, sweaty skin. 

“If Chiana has any more of that stuff, you should try it,” John mumbled and Crichton patted his hip and kissed his shoulder. “That was... I don’t have a word.” 

Exhausted and completely satiated, John let sleep take him. 

 

The End


End file.
